


what's the deal with airline food?

by wankelchan



Category: communism - Fandom
Genre: Communism, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-04
Updated: 2015-01-04
Packaged: 2018-03-05 08:38:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3113300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wankelchan/pseuds/wankelchan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>the story of two russian soldiers during the downfall of the third reich</p>
            </blockquote>





	what's the deal with airline food?

    Viktoriya screamed and writhed on the floor of the bar as the alcohol disinfected her wound, the hand of her savior rubbing the grime off. "In name of Stalin and USSR, quiet!"  
  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
    1945. Berlin. Soviet forces have pushed into the city, now practically ruins, and fighting in the streets is the order of the day for both sides. The southern front; one of several special teams of women, soldiers trained only as a necessity at first but found to have some advantages. The distinctive sound of an FG-42 rings in the air as bullets fly overhead Anzhelika and Viktoriya, the two surviving members of the forward group. The promised air support had never shown, the armor was needed elsewhere.  
  
    As the sound of silence fills the air, Viktoriya holds her AVT-40 above their cover, nothing more than a pile of rubble, and fires without any clear intent. Anzhelika is by her side, searching for any possible advantageous position or, in case things became even worse, an escape route. An explosion comes from the left of their position.  
  
    A grenade had been thrown and, in a bout of luck to the enemy, landed just feet away from them.  
  
    Ears ringing, Viktoriya looked at her partner and was suddenly aware of an immense and crippling pain from her left leg. She looked down and saw shredded uniform which revealed shredded flesh, shards of metal embedded in the throbbing muscle. A faint click, then a strong grip on her arm pulling her up as the smoke grenade made cover for Anzhelika to help her into the nearby bar - it was one of three buildings that they could have gone to, the second farthest away, and was the most likely to have at least some supplies.  
  
    The two went behind the bar, the wounded woman laying while the companion crouched, and a finger was held over the lips of Viktoriya as she lay trembling on the floor. The muscular woman, with limited medical training, was unsure of how long her sister-in-arms would last without treatment, so she took what she thought to be the less risky option and spoke.  
  
    "Turn, let me see."  
  
    Viktoriya nodded, biting her trembling lower lip, and rolled onto her side. The leg had been partially cauterized by the heat of the blast, but was still bleeding badly and had dirt and grit in it.  
    "I am going to disinfect with alcohol. It will hurt. You will survive."  
      
    They grasped each other's hands and locked eyes for a moment, then nodded.  
  
    "Good alcohol here. In other circumstances, would be more selective, but in this case believe it would be difficult to make wrong choice."  
  
    Viktoriya piped up, voice wavering. "C-comrade, I appreciate your attempt at humor, but is not really right time..."  
  
    With a shrug, Anzhelika returned to a position near her impromptu patient's leg and uncorked the bottle of scotch. Offering her hand, she cleared her throat and overturned the bottle.  
  
    Viktoriya screamed and writhed on the floor of the bar as the alcohol disinfected her wound, the hand of her savior rubbing the grime off.  
  
    "In name of Stalin and USSR, quiet!"  
      
    She soaked a bandage and quickly placed it on Viktoriya's leg, making sure to get the placement right the first time to avoid any undue pain. Grabbing a roll of gauze from her kit, she quickly wrapped the leg. She kissed her ally's knee and rubbed it softly.  
  
    "All better. You are fixed."  
  
    "Mostly...you have missed something, unfortunately, another wound."  
  
    "Ridiculous. I have missed nothing."  
  
    Viktoriya pointed to her lips with a weak smile.  
  
    "...oh."  
  
    Folding herself into the tight space, she laid down facing her friend and kissed her softly on the lips.  
  
    "That will not do. My leg has been blown to pieces, and that is all you offer?"  
  
    Both women laughed softly, then their lips met again, this time with their tongues quickly meeting as they had so many times before. Anzhelika's breathing became increasingly labored, eventually equaling her love's understandably heightened condition. Their hands slowly roamed each other's bodies, feeling familiar slopes and crevasses, tracing scars and old wounds.  
  
    "Is nice not needing to...(gasp)...worry abOUT...(GASP)...SECRET PO...LICE"  
  
    "Viktoria...with that...loudness...we still...do..."  
  
    "DA. WHY ARE ON FLOOR? WHY ARE SO CLOSE? WHY ARE UNIFORMS DAMP?"  
  
    Police chief Krakovitch was standing over them as they stared fearfully at him.  
  
    "I ASK QUESTION. ANSWER."  
  
    Anzhelika stuttered, "Y-yes. We...only remaining force against enemy. Attack by grenade wounded Viktoriya. I pull to safety and fix. We are on floor to hide, we are close to conserve heating as she has lost much blood and is unstable. Uniforms are damp from arousal of battle."  
  
    Krakovitch laughed heartily. "I ALWAYS DID LIKE YOU WOMEN SOLDIERS. MORE ENTERTAINING THAN BRUTES. COME, I TAKE TO FIELD HOSPITAL."  
  
    The two women smiled and sighed in relief, following the bear-sized man out of the bar.


End file.
